


In the Woods Somewhere

by swilmarillion



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-02 13:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20276638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swilmarillion/pseuds/swilmarillion
Summary: You inhale, willing the yellow scent of dandelions to drown the stench of blood that lingers in your nostrils.  You look up at Beren, who lies at your side, eyes closed, placid and untroubled.  You lay a hand on his chest, feel the beat of his heart, relish the smile it brings to his lips.You would like to stay like this forever, together in the stillness of your childhood home, happy and carefree and in love.You know that you can't.





	In the Woods Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Junaril](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junaril/gifts).

> Hope you don't mind the second person <3 <3

The sun is warm and bright overhead, but the full green leaves of the forest canopy break it into shimmering pools of light, touching everything you can see. The grass is cool and soft beneath you, the wildflowers dancing in the light summer breeze. You breathe in, smelling the slight crush of the grass under you weight, the delicate sweetness of the flowers under your fingers, the cool gloom of the earth where the tree roots dive beneath it. You smell him, the scent of his skin, feel the warmth of his body, the gentle firmness of his arms around you.

You have heard your mother talk about Valinor, about the serenity of Irmo’s gardens, the splendor of Yavanna’s gardens, the wonder of Nessa’s ever-dancing feet. She calls it paradise, and the look in her eyes is wistful and sad. You think she doesn’t know the meaning of that word, paradise. How could she? After all, she has never known this—the grass, the trees, the flowers…

…_high, dark walls, the dancing shadows of flames, a winged, swooping thing falling and screaming and dying, and…_

You snap back to reality, disguising your stifled gasp as a yawn, settling yourself once more in Beren’s arms. He holds you closer for a moment, and your heart aches with love and regret.

Your mother says you have the gift of foresight. You want her to be wrong. You hate that she is right. 

She says it is a gift, but you know this to be a lie. No gift brings this much sorrow, or so much pain.

She says the knowing is priceless, and on this, you can agree, for there is no sum in the world you wouldn’t pay to be rid of it, this stifling, terrible knowledge.

You look around at the swaying grass, straining your ears to catch the murmur of the stream. 

_You hear screams, and you recognize the throat that tears itself to release them. After all, you have often laid your hand to it, kissed its taut skin and stroked its smooth length. You can feel the anger around you, within you, the hatred seething from every fiber of your being, the power welling up from your very core._

You inhale, willing the yellow scent of dandelions to drown the stench of blood that lingers in your nostrils. You look up at Beren, who lies at your side, eyes closed, placid and untroubled. You lay a hand on his chest, feel the beat of his heart, relish the smile it brings to his lips. 

You would like to stay like this forever, together in the stillness of your childhood home, happy and carefree and in love. 

You know that you can’t. You know that this too must end, as all things inevitably do. But that end has not yet come, and so you push it from your mind, at least for a little while. For now, you simply close your eyes, and breathe. 


End file.
